


The Smell Of Home

by ellievate



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Batfamily, Briefly Mentioned Character Death, Fluff, Light Angst, Other, Past Character Death, batfam, hurt comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2020-01-06 14:49:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18390596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellievate/pseuds/ellievate
Summary: Over the years Alfred has gotten used to the scents and smells of his family, and the feeling of home that came with it.





	The Smell Of Home

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr @ellievate!

Over the years Alfred has gotten used to the scents and smells of his family, and the feeling of home that came with it. 

A classic pine and musk for Master Bruce, cultivated from his playboy facade turned into genuine habit. Soap and rust, clean and controlled. The scent still lingering strong even after his death, even after Alfred scrubs his hands raw trying to get it out of the sheets, the scent driving him mad with grief.

The scent somehow still on his skin when he returns, tired and Alfred nearly falls over in relief, in the fact that somehow all of his children eventually return to him. 

Master Richard, or Dick as he still insists Alfred call him, is very much a man. Alfred can recall him trying many scents over the years, clean and fresh as a young man, sharp and masculine as he turned from adolescence to adulthood, finally settling on something mellower. Warmer, with a hint of spice.

 A warmth he missed during his absence, whichever one it was at the time. Alfred is far too old to have his boys continue to leave him like this. But he can’t help the smile that creeps on his face as his warmth continues to permeate the manor, and the lives of those around him. 

Master Jason, no longer the boy who smelled of Gotham after a long nights work, of the smoke and life that made the city tick. His second grandchild, that to him in all but name and blood. He smells like something sharp now, something bittersweet. 

The slight tang of blood underneath his fingernails, for even if he doesn’t kill that night there is always blood. A sweetness Alfred pretends he has no idea where it comes from. 

A sweetness similar to his treats, the confections that seem to go missing every time Jason visits the manor, vanished without a trace. Alfred doesn’t mind. He used to make batches for a young boy from the streets, then out of a habit formed by grief, over the loss of that same boy. Hes overjoyed to have someone to enjoy them again, another one of his boys finally returned to him.

Young Master Timothy used smell like nothing at all. Clean, fresh, no perfumes or special scents. Sterile. An effect of his home, sterile as his scent. No place for a child, Alfred always thought, a young boy should never be so alone. 

Over time he grew to be an unique as the rest, developing the scent of ink and oil. Dirt from his nights out, an unavoidable grime. The scent of lavender and thyme soap after a shower, strong but mellow. A scent of contradictions, same as his third grandchild. 

Alfred misses it now that Master Timothy is around less than before, his scent barely lingering in his room after some of his longer absences from Wayne Manor. But he’ll come back, Alfred is positive. His boys always come back to him. 

Miss Stephanie, not an official member of the family, but apart of it just the same in spirit. Alfred can remember when he first noticed her. 

Prickly pear and hibiscus. Lovely and fresh as Miss Stephanie herself, bringing a certain lightness with her. He can only smell it in subtle whiffs, ones that run throughout the manner and can usually be found whenever a certain Master Timothy is around. 

Miss Casandra, his lovely girl. He remembers when she approached him, asking if he too, noticed, the trails their family leaves behind. He was surprised, but not shocked. If anyone were to notice it’d be Miss Casandra, observant in that way as she is. 

She’d asked him not long after if he would help her find her own. Something to tie her to the family, to give her a stronger tether. And Alfred, how could he refuse such a request. 

Egyptian cotton was decided upon by both. Soft and fresh, something she could bury into after a long night, and something that would make her feel clean when she felt as if she could never be clean again. 

Alfred notices most everything about his family, and those apart of it. That is why his final grandchild, Young Master Damian, deserves to be recognized the same as the others. 

However, Alfred was having trouble determining just what his signature was. It would seem that it was as hidden as Damian himself was, even when he was front and center, loud as proud as a boy his age could possibly be. Alfred, ever determined, went on a mission to solve this conundrum. However his mission bore no fruit, and he was left puzzled as he’d begun.

How could it be, he thought, that Master Damian had nothing like that of his own? His own signature, his own distinct calling card of sorts that would be recognizable to Alfred anywhere, under any scenario like the rest of the family. 

And then he realized. What would a boy, desperate to fit in do to try and make himself blend? He’d try and become like them. It was there in the way he’d steal Master Bruce’s cologne, the way he’d wear Master Richard’s older clothing and take a few of Master Jason’s treats. 

When he’d wrap himself in Miss Cassandra’s blankets and curl up in Miss Stephanie’s favorite chair. When he would even go as far to use Master Timothy’s soap on occasion, during bad nights when he needed to truly surround himself. 

Alfred has figured it out, the answer far sweeter than he’d been expecting. Master Damian, smelt like all of them. Like family. 

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr @ellievate!


End file.
